


You're lit by my starlight, and I'm lit by your sun

by Waistcoat35



Series: The Nature Diaries of Two Old Frenchmen [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert lives, Alternate Universe - Jean Valjean Lives, But I almost had teary eyes writing this, Cuddling, Flowers, Fluff, Gardening, Grandpa Valjean, I don't know how this happened, Introspection, Javert gets a hug, Javert to Valjean, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Seine, Second person POV, So does Valjean, There are grandbabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: I am warm more often than not these days, and it is all due to you. Perhaps you are the sun after all, so generously allowing my moon to eclipse your brightness, to bask in you as we are surrounded by the very stars that led me to you and you to I.





	You're lit by my starlight, and I'm lit by your sun

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt from sparkingstoryinspiration on tumblr. 
> 
> Prompt: Write a story including marigolds, triplets, and a mischievous twinkle in a bright eye.  
> This prompt randomly led to some introspection, especially as marigolds symbolise affection, and lo and behold, fluff was born! I almost never to 2nd-Person POV, but I did it once with a Sherlock fic and once for an Avengers one and people seemed to like it? Soooo...

The flowers are like well-worn rosettes in their vase – frilled and orange-golden. In the candlelight they ought to be compared to medallions, tiny suns – but they feel and look more real, more touchable than metal. More reachable than sun. They don’t try to be more than they are, and what they are is wonderful all by itself.

It’s funny, really – in such ways as these, marigolds are an awful lot like the way I would describe you. It is not the first time I have thought so – earlier, when the sun gleamed with a pink evening glaze and lit your curls up silver, you handed me the stalks with hands that were cool, and yet made me feel warm. You smiled at me, the marigolds smiled up at me, and never in my life have I felt worthy of God’s grace the way I did then. I never have.

Yet somehow, when I am with you I almost feel as though, when we depart, be it in the night intertwined together or upon a tower while the world catches fire around us, I will be worthy of a place beside you wherever we will go when the inevitable occurs. (If I were cast downward by he with the flaming sword, if I were to fall, you would jump after me into fire as you once did into water, and that is perhaps what terrifies me the most. I will try to be worthy, if only to save you from your own self-sacrifice.)

Now your hair is cast on by candlelight again, as you sit in your chair and tell stories to your – our?- grandchildren. The stories are a novelty I await almost as eagerly as the three younger ones – many are the usual fare, talking horses and magical tigers and circuses full of dreams. But on some nights, when the fire has died and the glint of mischief in your eyes has changed to something warmer and softer - and somehow, all the brighter for it – then, the stories are about us. A mayor and his inspector, a king and his lionheart. (To you, I am the precious one and you the protector, and even though it is wrong and I am undeserving of such a title as King, the sentiment warms me beyond belief.)

I am warm more often than not these days, and it is all due to you. Perhaps you are the sun after all, so generously allowing my moon to eclipse your brightness, to bask in you as we are surrounded by the very stars that led me to you and you to I.

The marigolds are gazing at me softly now, edges more ruffled with tiredness as they begin to wilt beneath the warmth of the fire, and you do the same as I usher the sleepy children to bed. In a few more minutes I will come and sit by you, our chairs as close as possible as we lean together. The flowers watch all the while, and there is sun all around us.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening:  
> On My Own (Les Miserables)  
> Mercury (Sleeping At Last)  
> Sun (Sleeping At Last)  
> Venus (Sleeping At Last)  
> All I Want - Kodaline
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and for all of your continued encouragement and reviews!


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